Chapter 30
The Name She Gave

In Kanazawa, Imani and Noah got lost on the way to a restaurant Aiko had recommended.

Earlier that morning, Setsuko had introduced Noah to Yasue as the musician who had been bribed into the journey with food. Noah denied this only enough to remain polite.

Yasue asked what he played. He explained, then listened while she described a drummer she remembered from the original Port Rowan exchange. Aiko had written about him in a letter, complaining that his rehearsals shook cups off a shelf.

“Some exaggeration,” Setsuko said.

“Some rhythm,” Noah replied.

They laughed.

Imani stood beside the workshop photographs and noticed that her brother had stopped checking whether he was saying the right thing. The older women were asking about his work because they were interested, not because someone had arranged a lesson about generations.

Before leaving, she thanked them for receiving him.

Setsuko looked amused.

“He can answer questions himself.”

“I'm learning that.”

“Good. Keep learning. It gives other people something to do besides reassuring you.”

The remark was sharp enough to be funny and accurate enough to follow her into the afternoon. At the guesthouse, Noah asked whether she wanted to find dinner together or rest first. She chose dinner and let him take charge of the map until it delivered them to the wall.

Later, she would remember the wrong turn as fondly as the exhibition. It had required no witness statement, no public correction, and no proof that either of them deserved to be on the street where they stood laughing in the rain.

The map insisted they had arrived. Noah insisted the map was describing a wall. Imani stood beneath a narrow awning, reading the address again while rain tapped the pavement.

“Your expertise is under review,” her brother said.

“My expertise never included this wall.”

An older man coming out of a nearby shop asked whether they needed directions. Imani explained where they were going. He pointed toward the next street and described the entrance without surprise that she understood him.

They thanked him and found the restaurant behind a curtain she had mistaken for part of a closed storefront.

Inside, a young server led them to a small table. Noah looked around with open pleasure, already deciding which parts of the room he would describe to Walter.

The exhibition that afternoon had been modest and busy. Setsuko had argued with Yasue over the arrangement of a photograph. Visitors had asked practical questions. The names on the wall had been complete enough to invite more research, not presented as the end of every uncertainty.

Imani had spent most of the visit listening.

Now she wanted dinner.

The server asked whether they preferred an English menu. Imani said the Japanese one was fine, and Noah asked her to translate the dishes he could not identify. She did, occasionally checking a word rather than guessing.

At the next table, a traveler struggled to explain a dietary question in English. The server was trying to help and had become visibly worried about misunderstanding.

Imani waited, then asked whether they would like assistance with the conversation.

Both said yes.

She translated the question, let the server confirm with the kitchen, and translated the answer. She did not answer a food safety question herself or turn the brief exchange into evidence of a gift.

The traveler thanked her.

“Are you an interpreter?”

“Not professionally. I work with books and paper.”

“What's your name?”

“Imani.”

It was enough.

She returned to her table, where Noah had been carefully pouring water into both glasses.

“You didn't mention the million,” he said quietly.

“Neither did you.”

“I was waiting to see if the wall offered a second wager.”

She laughed so hard she had to put down the menu.

Her phone buzzed. Walter had sent a photograph of the garden gate, finally repaired, with a caption claiming he had supervised the important work. Denise had replied in the family group that supervision mostly involved tea. Aiko had sent a message asking whether they had found the restaurant, followed by a correction to the directions she had given.

Imani showed Noah the screen. He pointed triumphantly at the correction.

“Exonerated.”

Outside, rain moved through the light above the doorway. In the exhibition room across town, a bird rested one uncertain foot above painted reeds. At home, family papers waited on worktables, restaurant shifts continued, and people kept making choices that would need attention after the interesting part was over.

Imani knew she would make more mistakes. She had help, work she wanted to learn, and enough room to ask before assuming she knew.

The server returned with their food and set the plates carefully between them. Noah lifted his glass.

“To getting here eventually.”

She touched her glass to his.

“To dinner.”